It should've been one of the happiest times in my life.
I was on vacation in Wisconsin before the school year began. My mom, sister, stepdad and I were out to eat at a restaurant of my choosing when my mom’s phone began to ring. I could tell by the somber look in her face that something was very wrong. “It's your dad. He wants to talk to you. … We should probably go outside,” she muttered.
My heart dropped as I began to prepare myself for the worst, but I never could’ve been truly prepared for what was to come. My dad is not the type of person to show any emotions whatsoever, so the clear sorrow in his voice told me everything I needed to know. He managed to say only four words, “My brother is gone.”
I was hit with a wave of emotion unlike any I had ever experienced. The remainder of the conversation, and also the vacation itself, was a blur. My family was more than willing to drive back home at that point, but I didn't want to be the reason their vacation ended.
My uncle was my best friend from the second he returned home from his deployment overseas. Every Sunday, at family lunch, we would play catch, basketball or just talk for hours on end. It was the highlight of my week. He was always joyful on the surface, so until much later, I never knew what he was going through on the inside. He battled PTSD and depression, and, unfortunately, he drank to cope with these internal battles.
As time passed, he was around less and less. I never understood why. Now I know that these struggles drove him away from us, which only made matters worse. Eventually, he went to a rehab facility where there was hope for the future. As soon as he got out, he texted me hoping to play a game of PIG. Unfortunately, I couldn’t because I had a football game. While I couldn't join him that time, I was sure that there would be plenty more chances.
I was wrong.
Shortly after getting released and opening what appeared to be a new chapter, he relapsed. The news crushed me. He was taken away almost as soon as he was back. My family told me to stay away from him for a while, so they could sort things out. Regretfully, I listened to these instructions. That's when I left for Wisconsin.
Every single day I wish I would’ve sent a text and rescheduled. I couldn't be there when he needed it the most, and that part continues to haunt me every day. Maybe, a simple text or call could have been the difference. Now I will never play catch or have a long talk with him again. Worst of all, I lost my lifelong best friend, and I will never let anything stop me from making that call again. This is why I believe in reaching out.
This I Believe Illinois is NPR Illinois' annual essay program for Illinois high school seniors. An expression of where their minds are as they prepare to enter the adult world. This I Believe was started by radio journalist Edward R. Murrow in 1951 to allow anyone able to distil the guiding principles by which they lived. Special thank you to our sponsors: The Rotary Club of Springfield Sunrise, Illinois Principals Association, Illinois Times, Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, University of Illinois Springfield, and Cured Catering.
